


The Grand Prize (Is All of Me)

by kittypox



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, BOM Keith, Keith has a controlling brother, Littermate AU, M/M, Omega Keith (Voltron), Shiro is an inexperienced alpha, Spy Keith, Using his omega wiles, all characters present, mature content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 04:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14072895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittypox/pseuds/kittypox
Summary: Shiro was never one to believe in fairy tales of soulmates or love at first sight. At least, he wasn't until Adonis himself was born into his life, sauntering into the room with beguiling eyes and a sway of the hips that demanded the attention of all. In a single instant, the universe shifted, thoughts of war and dictators crumbling, giving way to the foreign, overpowering impulse to bend his knee to this ethereal being. The greatest battle of his life would not be defeating the galra empire; it would be convincing this spirited omega to be his.





	The Grand Prize (Is All of Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are! Littermate AU! I know, finally.
> 
> So, yes, as a warning, this is an alternate universe wherein Keith was raised with his littermates by the Blade of Marmora. As such, Keith may seem out of character. That may not be some people's jams. Just a heads up.
> 
> I do hope you'll give it a try and take the journey with us!
> 
> enjoy!

Appearance was all that mattered, or so Allura reminded them for what seemed the hundredth time that morning. It was their duty as the paladins of Voltron, the leaders of the growing rebellion, to put on a display of dignity and strength. Every ally they gained brought them one step closer to defeating the Galra Empire and as such they needed to gather up as many allies as they could. A rebellion was nothing without participants. The problem was, allies were difficult to come by, with most of the known universe conquered. The mission of Voltron might have been lauded from one corner of the universe to the next, but finding fighters to champion the cause was more difficult than originally anticipated. As such, each potential ally they bartered with was treated to the full display of Voltron’s grandeur. It was necessary, Allura claimed, though she held a clear disdain for posturing. Their meeting today was no different—

No, Shiro thought with a soft grumble of agitation. This meeting _was_ different. These were not just potential allies they were meeting with, these were members of the first and only successful rebellion. Over the centuries, many rebels and freedom fighters had fallen at the hands of the galra, leaving little more than a whisper of discontent in the wake of their actions. Each subsequent rebellion had been small, inconsequential, forgettable. All but one group had fallen to the rising tide of the Galra Empire’s power. 

“What’s so great about the Blade of Mamona again?” Hunk asked, buffing a spot of grease from his armor as they prepared to leave.

“The Blade of Marmora.” Allura corrected, tone stern. She was pensive; Shiro could read the apprehension in her expression from the way her lips pressed together and her brow wrinkled. “The Blade of Marmora has survived for centuries, despite the Galra Empire’s best attempts to track and exterminate them. They are more than just rebels; they are spies and double agents. They have more intelligence than any other potential ally might possess.”

In other words, Shiro thought, they would be an indispensable resource. Voltron might be the figurehead of the rebellion, but it was the Blade of Marmora that was the backbone of the operation. 

He was not one hundred percent certain of this rendezvous. Their link with the Blade was tenuous at best. For years, the Blade of Marmora had been operating their rebellion on their own, never seeking help and never accepting aid when it was offered. It was what had kept them in operation for so long, they claimed. The hand of friendship from Voltron had been extended no less than a dozen times and each time the Blade had refused. That did not bode well, in Shiro’s opinion. The tides of war might have been turning, making it practical for their forces to combine, but Shiro held misgivings with gathering aid from a group who, until quite recently, had refused their allegiance. 

“We’re sure this is a wise idea?” he had asked Allura discreetly when she had announced her intention to meet with one of the Blade operatives. 

She had frowned; she was not blind to the fact that their friendship would likely be unwanted. Necessity had drawn the Blade into their circle. From both of their experience, bonds of convenience did not always a good match make. 

Allura had sighed, clutching her communicator tightly in hand. “We will need to proceed with caution; our contact is open to an alliance, but he cannot guarantee the cooperation of the leader of the Blade of Marmora.”

So they were to parlay with a subordinate, Shiro had thought darkly. Another ill omen. But it was not his decision to make; the princess believed that her contact was a person of worth whom they would benefit being attached to. He would not speak against her decision. And so he boarded the small shuttle with the rest of the paladins and set course for their rendezvous point.

==

Look natural was the best advice Shiro had to offer. It, honestly, was not great advice. Even without their paladin armor, they stuck out like sore thumbs; amid the masses of galra soldiers and other various alien sorts, their diminutive size and gangly human limbs drew attention. Shiro cast a suspicious glance around the room, monitoring the tense situations at each table with wariness. Meeting at the Fripping Bulgogian was not ideal, but Allura's contact wanted to be discreet. How discreet they could be among a pack of thieves, thugs, and galra, he was uncertain. 

“Are we sure we’re safe here?” Pidge asked, pushing her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. 

Allura did not respond. With head held high, she proceeded through the entrance and into the throng of rowdy patrons. Several pointed leers were turned in the princess’ direction and Shiro hastily made after her, hand straying obviously to his bayard. If anyone wished to give her trouble, they would need to go through him. The threat was taken to heart. Snorts of annoyance and mocking laughter reached his ears, but they proceeded unmolested. 

They filed towards a table, mindful to place their backs towards the wall; they did not need any nasty surprises. Were he to guess, Shiro expected a surprise or two would pop up regardless. It was inevitable with their foul luck, it seemed. His eyes flicked left and right, taking in as many details as possible. It was difficult in the dim, violet light of the bar scene, with wafts of smoke floating in and out of his vision. The lantern above their table swung heavily, casting long shadows across their faces.

“I hate bars.” Hunk groused at his side. Shiro could relate; he had gone to a select few dive bars back on earth. Usually, that was not by choice, but by coercion via friends. 

“Maintain your focus.” Allura snapped, fists settled on the table. 

A moment of careful observation passed.

“There are a lot of galra soldiers here. You’re _sure_ we’re safe?” Pidge asked once more. 

Shiro shrugged. “Coran said that this planet is a neutral territory and has been for centuries. Somehow, all parties have managed to maintain that truce. I doubt even the galra soldiers would risk upturning that truce. Not now at any rate.”

“Not with booz at stake.” Lance added.

He probably was not wrong. Supplies and entertainment like alcohol, drugs, and prostitutes were in short supply in certain corners of the galaxy. No few planets had banned the uses all together. A corner in the universe that still boasted such treasures would be protected so the spoils could be enjoyed by all. 

 

Even on neutral ground, Shiro was uncomfortable; he had commanded the team to leave their paladin armor behind, opting for disguises that Coran had put together for them. Their classic space pirate garb had been met by a room full of stares. Apparently, space pirates had gone out with the Alteans centuries ago.

Sighing, Shiro set his helmet aside and threaded his fingers together. The sooner this meeting was over, the better. He highly doubted this contact would have anything they wanted or needed, but he was willing to listen. A hand in the rebellion was always helpful, and if this man was a member of the Blade of Marmora, he would hopefully be of some use.

\---------------

As far as first impressions went, Killian was not impressed in the slightest. He had expected to be met with the famed decorum and poise the paladins of Voltron were renowned for. Instead, he was greeted by a group of costumed fools, whining among themselves. The chaotic elbowing and arguing amongst one another spoke more of children than of warriors. Even the princess was snapping like a petulant child, gone too long without a nap. Their leader at least seemed together, although every few sentences he turned away to demand that his crew focus. Such disarray would never be tolerated among the Blade of Marmora.

_Idiots._

This was a disaster, Shiro thought as he desperately attempted to round everyone in. Impatience and uncertainty had taken a toll on the team; they were not accustomed to sitting for long periods of time during meetings, especially not in such volatile conditions. Their contact had appeared almost an hour late, slipping into the bar unnoticed. The man had slid into the seat before their table and began speaking without preamble, catching them all off guard. Who else could it have been, Shiro thought once the shock had passed. The man that had sat was clearly galra, standing some seven or eight feet tall, sporting a familiar coat of downy violet fur, large ears protruding from thick tufts of blackish hair. He realized who the man was quickly enough, but immediately the table had erupted in accusatory shouts. At Allura’s hasty greeting, Shiro did his best to hush the rest of the paladins, though he feared the damage had been done. 

After another round of scoldings, Shiro turned back to their contact, offering an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry; we're unused to this type of environment."

Killian did not smile back. "This kind of environment? As in...?"

"A bar!" Lance barked loudly. "Who meets in a bar?!" 

Shiro closed his eyes and forced himself to count to ten. The Blade member stared at them silently for so long, Shiro was beyond certain that Lance had somehow insulted him. At last, Killian turned his head towards the door, as if searching for something. Likely an escape. This meeting was going downhill quickly. He needed to find a way to salvage it, quickly.

"What Lance means," Shiro rushed in, "is that we aren't usually invited to such public places. Our meetings typically take place in highly guarded locations or in private halls. May I ask why you chose this location to meet?"

A rueful smile touched Killian's lips, gaze swinging towards Shiro. "We're safe here; both of our parties. The paladins of Voltron are relatively unknown in this part of the universe—but I see you’ve overcome that worry with your clever disguises. I can walk freely here, as can you."

"Are you wanted by the empire too?" Pidge asked, ignoring the sleight against their costumes in favor of leaning forward to stare him in the eye.

Killian stared at her blankly then turned away. 

Shiro frowned; not another ally lost. A beat of tense silence passed. 

"Ah." Killian's voice rose an octave, as if he were suddenly happy. "My friends, the reason we're here and not in one of your official palaces is because I have neither the time or resources to construct such a safe haven for your delicate senses. And the second reason is that my brother has work to do here."

"Your brother?" Shiro raised a brow, glancing around, trying to spot another galra of similar appearance. There were a few loitering in the corner--Killian's men who had entered with him--but the Blade was not looking their way. 

"He'll be here soon."

Hunk glanced around the room as well. "Does he look like you?"

Killian's eyes flicked again to Shiro, a smug grin twisting his lips. "Trust me," he said, addressing Shiro, "you'll know when he gets here."

What did that mean, Shiro wondered. Were they about to be held up by another giant galra, all purple fur and bursting with unbridled anger? Or perhaps there would be a brawl soon. There did not seem to be too many potential options for such a place as that. For what had to have been the hundredth time that day, Shiro’s hand strayed to his bayard. Whatever was to happen, even if it involved their contact’s sibling, he did not trust the violence to be contained. Undoubtedly, he suspected that they would be drawn into the fray.

A grin stretched across Killian’s face, eyes narrow and watching the entryway. They would see soon enough what would happen. The atmosphere of the bar altered quite suddenly. The din grew quiet, the air tense. Every galra turned towards the doorway, as if they sensed something the rest of the patrons could not.

“What’s going on?” Allura ground out through clenched teeth, keen senses alerting her to the change in the air.

Killian glanced at her with a mocking smile. “My brother. He’s coming.”

Shiro exchanged a questioning glance with the princess. Did the galra sense that one of their own was approaching? None of the other galra who had entered had received such attention. What could be so special about the Blade’s brother then? 

As if to answer his unspoken question, a draft struck Shiro suddenly in the face. The door had just been opened, he thought before a scent registered. At once, his muscles went taut, jaw snapping shut as a wash of saliva flooded his mouth. Across the table, Killian eyed him with a knowing expression, taking in the man’s dilated pupils and tense posture. 

“My friends,” he murmured, swinging his gaze back to the entrance and the quartet of young galra soldiers filing in, “my brother.”

Shiro watched in fascination as the trio of small (small by galra standards at least) purple skinned galra parted, making way for an even smaller galra of such pale complexion and human features, Shiro had a difficult time believing he was looking at a galra at all. Surely another human had somehow found their way to this end of the universe. This young man was pale skin and gangly limbs, of the same stature as Lance or Hunk. If he looked though, stared hard, Shiro could see a strong familial resemblance between Killian and this galra—this _omega_. 

Shiro shut his eyes, lashes fluttering as the smell struck him again, more powerful than before. Omega. A healthy, fertile omega. His eyes quickly flicked over the newcomer’s form, taking in the wide hips, the strong, lean thighs—all good for birthing pups, his mind supplied helpfully. A body meant for birthing and certainly an omega, with fine, trim features and a face as lovely as a god. The man’s uniform did nothing to hide his form. Little was left to the imagination beneath the fitting stretch of gray and violet fabric. Shiro sighed, taking in the scent once more, enraptured by this man. 

His eyes snapped open suddenly. “He’s in heat.”

Killian chuckled. “A keen observation.”

“You can’t bring an omega in heat _here_!” he hissed in protest. “This is not a safe place for him!”

For a moment, Killian stared at the black paladin. That was a stronger reaction than he was expecting. He knew that, as an alpha, the man would likely be effected by his brother’s scent. He had not expected the paladin to be so protective. Perhaps these fools would be useful to him afterall, he thought with a grin.

“Don’t worry, my friend. You can take my word for it: the last thing Keith needs is someone protecting him. In fact, it’s the rest of us who should be protected from him.”

–

There was an angry flush across Shiro’s cheeks that he could not chase away. The last thing he had expected to come across in a seedy bar filled with thugs and hookers was an omega in heat. It was no place for such a creature, he seethed indignantly, eyes straying to the far table where the omega was propped upon a chair, laughing lightly, eyes shining in giddiness, without a care in the world. This was Killian’s brother? Initially, he had been worried about gaining the man’s allegiance. If the Blade was willing to put an omega at such a risk, he was not certain he wished for their alliance any longer. It was cruel and irresponsible. Allura took control of the conversation, steered it to her liking and offering the well-placed statistics of Voltron’s success in liberating a third of the empire. The Blade of Marmora would be fools if they did not accept the hand of friendship from Voltron, she claimed. Her words did little to move Killian, but Shiro opted to remain aloof from the conversation. 

His attention was thoroughly ensnared by the omega across the way, lounging happily among a pack of galra soldiers who took turns twisting his long tail of braided hair through their hands. It was an obvious sign of interest, but the little omega acted as if he saw nothing, smiling beguilingly and laughing as needed. A soft growl built in Shiro’s throat. He was just being protective, he told himself. That filthy bar was not a place for an omega, and a naive one at that. It was his duty as an alpha of Voltron to ensure that an omega was not unjustly taken advantage of. 

Seeing as Killian was more invested in bartering and making deals, he took it upon himself to stand guard for the omega’s honor. His eyes moved with the man as he slid between the large bodies, weaving towards the bar and fetching flagons of alcohol for his galra suitors. The soldiers leered, appreciating an omega who knew enough to serve, then roared in amused laughter as the small thing grabbed a drink for himself and downed half of it in a great gulp. A small smile touched Shiro’s lips; a playful omega. 

Of course, the downfall of a playful omega, especially in a place of sordid notoriety, was that suitors got bold. As the drinks flowed, the laughter roaring, and the competition for the omega’s interest grew intense, hands began sneaking touches. Fingers on thighs, harsh grips around wiry arms, a hand around a slender neck. Shiro narrowed his eyes, baring his teeth. There was a hint of threat to the gestures and he did not like it. For his part, the omega acted as if nothing was amiss, casually moving hands when they lingered too long and flashing flirtatious looks at those few who dared to keep their distance. 

_Fresh meat_ , his alpha id crooned crassly. All that slouching provocatively, showing off his best assets...the little omega knew what he was doing. This little omega was on the hunt for a partner. Shiro had seen omegas at work before, but never one this bold or confident. This omega stared right into the alphas’ eyes and grinned wickedly, eyes flashing alluring promises. When one touched, he touched back, rewarding their boldness with a teasing caress of his fingertips across a hand that engulfed his own. It was a dangerous game this omega played, but, as far as Shiro could see, he was playing it well.

As with all matters that involve an omega and numerous alphas though, fights break out. All at once two of the broader, more fierce of the galra soldiers were snarling at one another. The omega looked on, face betraying nothing. It was not until a hand grabbed at his waist possessively that he reacted, face contorted momentarily in an ugly snarl. Perhaps he had even growled. Shiro was not certain; omegas did not typically snarl. In a flash, the offending galra was on his knees, arm bent at a painfully awkward angle as the omega pinned him with a boot heel to the shoulder. 

“I didn’t give you permission to do that.” the omega crooned merrily, jerking the soldier’s arm. 

Shiro stared, as did the rest of the bar patrons. A hush fell over the room. After a long moment, the omega released the offending arm, taking a moment to dig his boot heel into the soldier’s back before giving him a little kick. A small huff of laughter rang from the other table members. 

Shiro’s hand strayed yet again to his bayard as the soldier rose to his feet, turning narrow eyes on the omega. The soldier towered over the man, drawing himself to his full height, puffing out his chest in a display of dominance. The omega lifted his chin stubbornly. 

Killian stood abruptly. “It appears that the time has come for us to leave. We shall be in contact, princess.”

Allura’s mouth hung open a moment. “What—what do you--”

A crack rent the air and Shiro turned his head just in time to see the galra soldier with the injured pride slam his fist into the table where the omega had been sitting. Before the fist could connect, the omega grasped the table and flipped backwards, far out of reach. Splinters flew, glasses crashed to the floor, but the omega was unharmed. The effect of the attack was like a powder keg erupting. Bodies began flying this way and that, fists flying, weapons unsheathed and glinting in the swinging lantern light. 

A body flew by and Shiro stepped aside to save himself from being knocked to the floor. The paladins flew to their feet as well, drawing their bayards.

“Looks like we should leave too!” Hunk cried anxiously.

“Clearly!” Pidge yelled, already ducking through people towards the exit.

There was no opposition from Shiro; better to leave while they still could and not get caught in the fray. Who knew what attention the brawl might attract. Before he picked up his feet and ran, he spared one last glance about, searching for the omega who was the cause of this great battle. Across the room, he saw the man, wrist clutched tightly in Killian’s grasp as the Blade pulled him towards a side exit. One of the galra the man had been sporting with spotted him as well, opening his mouth wide and roaring in frustration. In response, the omega laid his hand to his mouth and then threw the soldier a kiss, winking playfully before laughing and darting out the door with his brother.

A glass smashed by the wall beside his head, breaking Shiro’s enthralled staring. He ran then, jumping into the ship and slamming it into motion. His heart was hammering in his chest as if he had stayed and fought a hundred drunken brawlers. _Just adrenaline_ , he told himself as they abandoned the planet for home. Even as he walked the halls later that evening, unable to find sleep, unable to calm his anxious heart, he told himself it was just the excitement of the day, nothing more. His excited breathing and restlessness had everything to do with the shedding of blood and absolutely nothing to do with the captivating, alluring, mysterious omega he was unable to get out of his mind.


End file.
